


tale of a man who whispered to flowers

by mountaindews



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: I don't know to be honest, Introspection, M/M, first person POV, the tiniest bit of angst, very mild sexual references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8463889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mountaindews/pseuds/mountaindews
Summary: If I were a flower, Natsume, would you twist me?If you were the flower, the white asphodelus that grows close to the graves, would it be right if I picked you up and held you close to my chest?





	

Break. Break, and break, and break, like there's no point of no return. Like you're never going to cross any line. Scratch, and bite, and mark, and break, to prove you've seen that skin, just for the exquisite feeling of perverse satisfaction you'll get seeing the marks. Break. Sink.  
Kiss. Kiss, and kiss, and kiss, apologizing, with tears streaming down your cheeks. Kiss, soft, slow, never hurried, like you never wanted to hurt in the first place. Lie and hide. Kiss. Follow the scratch with your lips. Comforting. Slow.  
The words don't come, but force them out, please, please force them out. You can't be forgiven unless you do. (I'll always forgive you, always, but I can't tell you unless you apologize. It's written deep down in our pathetic waltz of affection. If that's acceptable to call this love.)  
« I'm Sorry, I — »  
« It's okay. »  
You're paler than me, and yet, the scratches your nails bite into me are so red they look like they're never to fade away. The tip of your finger traces down my back and arm, and I don't move. It's gentle. Like the look in your eyes.  
« It's not. Not everything I do is Okay, and you don't have to approve anything I do just because it's Me. »  
Force them out, and they'll sound fake. Speak them loud, and they'll be nothings, whispers the walls will eat like silent witnesses. I eat them too, chewing on them like candy.  
_It's not like you want to hurt me. It's for the reaction you gain._  
It's to prove yourself that I'm still here. To remind me I'm here because I want to, and not because it's a pleasing duty. It's for love. Affection. Though these marks hurt and sting, we're still here.  
(Forever here, Natsume.  
Mine, mine, mine. Yours, because I want to.)  
The hand that ruffles your hair (calming, soothing) is the same you kissed earlier, the same I entwined with yours. The smell of fresh laundry and clean bedsheets mingles with sweat and blood and sex, but I take it in, we both take it like it's honey dripping in our throats.  
« Tsumugi, I — »  
Half truths, full lies. So I swallow them in before they leave your lips. You don't like it, but you don't complain. I, you would have said, I didn't want to hurt you; I could read it in the cracks of your voice, the tone of your voice. It's never _I love you._ Always _I'm sorry._ But, but, it's okay.  
If you told me you loved me, I wouldn't answer. Because I don't know what you mean with love. Because I don't know if I feel the same. Disappointing you in this would be the ultimate shame.  
Care, and never love. It's for the best. The greatest happiness for both of us.  
Cracks, and shadows, and lies, and truths. The waltz of routine and never knowing and always being aware. Whispering to these white walls like a lonely kid would whisper to flowers.  
If I were a flower, Natsume, would you twist me? Would you be sorry, would you cry, would it be a sorry way to write poetry instead of a sad childhood memory?  
You just want to make everyone happy. So you can't accept knowing someone so close to you isn't, and that they feel nothing, apart from dull satisfaction and sense of duty. If I told you I loved you, would you believe me? Would you answer?  
If you were the flower, the white asphodelus that grows close to the graves, would it be right if I picked you up and held you close to my chest? Murmurs dissolve in the air like sugar in a cup, never to be found again, if not under our tongues.  
You're self aware, and I'm self sacrificing. A poor combination, but it works  
(it doesn't)  
in the way our fingers entwine, and your eyes look up into mine, and your smile is a little less stone-cutting when you fall asleep.  
You're no flower, and I'm a lonely child no more, but I hold you close to my chest, as much as my bruised arms can endure being stretched and flexed. If it's meant to bring us happiness, if you're meant to be the spark, time is tale-telling.  
(And if we're meant to be flowers, we'll wither out of the vase.)

**Author's Note:**

> please don't question me i'm coming back from dublin i haven't slept for more than 4 hours in 36 hours and i've been walking most of them i'm so tired  
> also this is the first time EVER i write in first person so pwease no steppy  
> if you still believe i could do better hmu on twitter: @natsumaos


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